Morning in Paradise

 I came here to disappear.

Palm trees instead of traffic lights.

Salt air instead of sirens.

A horizon so wide

it makes worries feel small.

The mornings are soft here.

Sun rising slow over the water,

coffee warm in my hands,

a breeze through the palms

like the world is finally quiet.

I traded noise for waves.

Deadlines for drifting clouds.

The grind of the city

for a hammock and shade.

Paradise, they call it.

But every morning

before the birds finish singing

and before the sun climbs too high,

my thumb finds the same small screen.

Headlines.

Wars.

Markets.

Storms.

Cities trembling somewhere

far beyond these palms.

And I sit there wondering

how close the noise has come.

The ocean keeps rolling in

like nothing has happened.

The palm leaves sway

like the sky has no bad news.

But inside this peaceful bubble

I still wake each morning

to see what new way

the world is ending today.